


Jolt

by syriala



Series: Inktober for Writers 2018 [30]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 22:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16463792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syriala/pseuds/syriala
Summary: The pack joked about the grief beard, but Stiles thought it was in very bad taste.





	Jolt

The pack joked about the grief beard, but Stiles thought it was in very bad taste.

Chris had learned his sister was a homicidal maniac, before he lost her, had learned that his dad was just as homicidal if not worse than his sister, before kinda losing him too. Then he had to bury his wife, who preferred being dead over turning into a werewolf and to top it all off he had to bury his own daughter as well.

Stiles secretly thought that Chris’ loss and grief could totally rival Derek’s and Peter’s and no one was making fun of their grieving choices.

But the beard wasn’t the only proof that Chris was dealing very poorly with everything. He was wasting away right under their noses, not eating, barely sleeping, and displaying a kind of reckless behavior that worried Stiles to no end.

Stiles was aware that grief was a process, though he thought that it got all muddied up for Chris. The stages of grief were a process for a single death, or like in Peter and Derek’s case multiple deaths at once, but the stages couldn’t account for several deaths over a stretch of time, without giving the grieving person enough time to circle through all of the five stages before hitting them with the next death.

So Stiles didn’t know how Chris was really doing, if this was maybe still just another step in the acceptance of the deaths, but what he did know was that someone needed to jolt Chris out of his apathy at least.

Chris clearly went through the motions, he always appeared to be clean and was at least dressed, but he only ate food if someone put it in front of him, and Stiles had circled around his house often enough to know that he wasn’t sleeping like he should.

But Stiles was nothing if not a good care-taker for the people he loved and he already had a plan. He had managed to get his father out of the bottle and he was older and wiser now. Getting Chris to care about something again would be a piece of cake.

Chris didn’t even seem surprised to see Stiles cooking in his kitchen when he came home, and he didn’t comment on it either.

He went upstairs, and when he came back down, the food was ready and on the table, Stiles sitting as well and just waiting for Chris.

Chris sat down without a word, ate what Stiles had put in front of him, and left as soon as his plate was empty.

Stiles had tried to stay quiet during dinner, thinking that maybe Chris would need some space or wanted to talk himself, but clearly that wasn’t going to work. Stiles would not endure this horrible, heavy silence again.

The next night, Stiles chattered away, like he usually did. He wasn’t really expecting Chris to answer, and he didn’t, but Stiles wasn’t deterred. He could go for a lot longer than Chris needed to finish off his food.

“What are you doing?” Chris finally asked on the third day Stiles cooked for him.

“Making you food,” Stiles gave back without turning around, stating the obvious in hopes that Chris would inquire further, but after a brief silence he heard Chris walk away.

He didn’t come down for dinner that night, but Stiles was back for lunch anyway.

“You can’t fix me,” Chris said roughly three weeks after Stiles had started and Stiles shrugged.

“I’m not trying to fix you. I’m just trying to make things a little bit easier on you, maybe lend you an ear or a shoulder if you need them,” he explained, and Chris sharply turned his head away.

During the sixth week Chris finally started to talk. First only about Allison, always Allison, but soon enough he talked about Victoria, Gerard and Kate. He seemed wary at first, but Stiles went with the flow, never indicating that the topic was uncomfortable for him, because he was just here to listen.

And he did.

Slowly, so slowly, Chris started to move on. He shaved. He finally ate without being prompted. He slept for longer than just two, three hours a night. And the day Stiles caught him laughing at one of Peter’s dry comments, Stiles knew that he had done his job.

He decided to bring Chris one last cake, kind of a “Well done”-cake without actually writing that on top of it, and when he entered the kitchen, Chris was already waiting for him.

“What is that?” Chris asked with a nod towards the cake, because so far Stiles had been really careful to not feed him too many unhealthy things.

“Cake,” Stiles promptly replied, and Chris rolled his eyes.

Stiles refused to admit that that little gesture made him feel all warm and happy. It was proof that Chris was doing a lot better these days.

“Thank you,” Chris honestly said, and Stiles stared at him.

“For the cake?”

“For doing what you have done,” Chris replied. “I wouldn’t have gotten here without you,” Chris honestly told him and walked over to Stiles to press a kiss to his forehead.

“And I don’t want you to stop coming over,” Chris mumbled, and Stiles hated the way he flushed at those words.

Chris wasn’t in any way ready to give Stiles what he wanted from him, and yet those few words made him hope anyway.

“Why don’t you start coming over to my place?” Stiles asked. “Come to family dinners.”

He hadn’t dared to bring it up before, out of fear that it would hurt Chris’ progress, but he felt confident now.

“Meeting the dad already?” Chris joked, and Stiles startled, because he hadn’t been expecting that.

“I mean—maybe?” he gave back, trying to hide his face from Chris but Chris pulled him into a sideway hug, pressing their bodies together.

“Maybe,” he repeated, and it sounded like a promise.


End file.
